


The World Always Ends on TV

by misura



Category: Burn Notice
Genre: Alternate Universe - Apocalypse, Family, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-21
Updated: 2011-07-21
Packaged: 2017-10-21 15:21:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/226662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misura/pseuds/misura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Everything happens on TV.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	The World Always Ends on TV

**Author's Note:**

  * For [damedeleslac](https://archiveofourown.org/users/damedeleslac/gifts).



Everything happens on TV.

There's people waving signs and shouting the government's keeping secrets and generally making themselves look like idiots, and Madeline watches it on TV - on the evening news, at first, in between her favorite talkshow and that series Michael used to hate as a kid.

He probably still does. He's so very stubborn sometimes, not at all like Nate, who is always willing to help her or promise to drive her somewhere. (Unreliable, too, sometimes. A little. Nobody's perfect.)

It's not quite real, those first weeks. It doesn't _touch_ her.

Nate's dismissive of the whole thing, barely even seems to be aware of it at all. He's all _'don't worry about it, ma'_ \- as if she's said a single word about being worried. Absent-minded, is what he is, but at least he's there in body, not minding at all to take a look at the sink while he's there anyway.

It still leaks after he leaves, but that's really not the point, is it? He's _tried_. He's made an _effort_. Madeline's a smart woman; she knows that you shouldn't expect too much of people.

That's what she tells Michael. "I don't think it's too much to expect you to come and visit once in a while. I'm your _mother_ , Michael. I _need_ you."

A little white lie but, she soothes her conscience, a necessary one. All boys want to feel like they're needed.

"If it's about the sink again, call a plumber," Michael says, missing her point completely.

"It's not about the sink." She'll ask him to take a look at it once he's there, of course. He'll like that, and he's really much more handy than he gives himself credit for. Plumbers are expensive. "It's about being _family_. And bring Fiona."

Fiona's a nice girl. Michael could have done a lot worse. Might do a lot worse yet, if he doesn't come across with a ring and a proposal one of these days.

"I'm kind of busy, ma."

Michael's always been a terrible liar. To her, at least; he seems to be doing all right when it's other people. It's how she knows he loves her, for all that grumbling and huffing and _complaining_ he does.

"Tomorrow," she says. "Stay for dinner. I'll make your favorite."

 

About a week after Michael comes over for dinner ( _and_ fixes the sink, just like she knew he would), the TV station cancels her favorite talk show and her favorite series and even her second favorite talk show and series. They cancel pretty much everything, really.

Switching channels doesn't help. Turning up the radio is only a little bit better, and some of the things they call 'music' nowadays - well, the less said about it the better.

The house feels much more silent without the TV on. Having Nate over helps, but he's a grown man; he can't just hang around the house all day long. (He'll always be a boy to her, of course.)

She turns the TV back on and sees someone killing himself.

She feels like it should shock her more. She tries to imagine being the man's mother. She'd be upset then, she thinks. She'd be _very_ upset. She'd probably cry.

"Someone just killed himself. Live. On TV."

Michael says nothing. Stubborn. He probably wasn't watching.

"I'm very upset right now, Michael," she tells him.

"Maybe you should turn it off." No _'don't worry about it, ma'_. It's why she's called him instead of Nate, although of course she knows Nate means well.

She doesn't consider telling him she's done so for five whole days. It's none of his business. "Then I wouldn't know _anything_ about what's going on."

"What do you want me to do, ma?" If it was Nate, it'd sound like an offer.

"Just ... " She wants Michael to tell her she's got nothing to worry about. Him, she'd believe. "Nothing."

"Well, that's new." Unkind. Uncalled for. Fiona must be a saint, to be putting up with this sort of treatment. (No man treats his girlfriend better than his mother. Madeline knows this.)

"Goodbye, Michael."

 

She buys canned food. A lot of canned food.

The president is on TV at least one time a day, to talk about how things are going. He looks nice, Madeline thinks. If she were his mother, she'd be proud of him being so grown-up and calm.

Michael can be like that, too. Not often, but sometimes. When he makes the effort.

The family that's living three doors down the street packs up everything they own and leave on a Tuesday morning. _'To Canada,'_ her neighbor to the left tells her - _'to Mexico,'_ her neighbor to the right thinks. Madeline doesn't see how it matters.

Michael doesn't talk to her about moving. She'd like to think it's because there's nothing to worry about.

She thinks it's probably because moving doesn't matter, though. This isn't some bad people being after her son because of his job or because of money. This is something worse. Impersonal. Nothing to do with her at all, really, except that it has.

"We're all going to die, aren't we?" she says, inhaling the smoke of her cigarette and feeling almost light-headed. She's always been a little worried about lung-cancer. "Be honest."

"Yes, ma, we're all going to die," Michael says. Sam chokes on his third helping of dinner. He's a good friend, Sam is - good for Michael, too.

She waits for some kind of emotion. "I knew it." Nothing. "How long?"

"Well, I think the average human lifespan is about seventy, eighty years. Sam, buddy, you all right?" Michael slaps Sam on the back a few times. For show, mostly.

"Never been better. Thanks, Mikey."

Michael smiles his lying smile. "No problem."

 

The TV falls silent about fifteen minutes before the lights go out.

She sits on the couch and thinks: _'I should have gone to bed earlier'_.

It's not easy to find the phone in the dark, and when she does, there's no signal.

The front door's locked and the back door's locked and there's really not anything she can do right now, except try to get some sleep. She considers going back to the couch, but it's really not comfortable for lying on, and her bedslippers are upstairs, too.

She manages to get to her bedroom without falling down the stairs in the dark.

She can hear her own breath, in and out, and she wonders about Sam and Fiona. She's a mother; she'd know if anything had happened to either of her sons. She is, she realizes, still not scared, although she does feel _something_ now.

Alive.

Shouldn't take the end of the world, really, but there you have it.


End file.
